


MIT Has a Football Team?

by somewhereelse



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-11 21:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10474716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: AU. Adventures in Oliver Queen, QB1 for the MIT Engineers, and Felicity Smoak, Disgruntled Work-Study Peon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because college football (or at least there was when I started this).

Felicity has no idea how she got roped into this.

Actually, yes, she does. It’s because work-study supplements her very necessary scholarship, and the university is academic enough to suck at _every_ sport. Meaning there aren’t really Athletic Training majors to fulfill all the game day duties for the inconsequential sports teams they do have. Meaning said duties fall on the shoulders of work-study students. Meaning she’d been dismissed from her cush library job after exacting her own form of justice on a group of cheaters conspiring to manipulate the curve by indefinitely checking out and/or destroying library materials.

So here she stands, on the sidelines of the vaguely neglected football field, wearing an embroidered polo shirt and matching warm up pants and holding a rack of consistently full water bottles. Because apparently not even Division III football players attending MIT can figure out how to squirt water into their mouths through the obstacle course of a facemask.

But, really, she doesn’t mind the forfeited Friday night as much as the one-sided, taunting cat and mouse game that Oliver Queen, #1, “star” quarterback, plays with her. Every time the boy (yes, _boy_ ) trots off the field and back onto the sidelines, he approaches her. And, just as she had been told to do, Felicity fumbles a water bottle out of the rack and lifts it above her shoulder, prepared to release a stream of water into his smirking mouth. Except half the time, within steps of her, he suddenly veers off course, leaving her arm hanging in mid-air. She wouldn’t think anything of it—other players do it too when a coach calls for them or they just ignore her entirely—but  _Ollie_ always gives her a shit-eating grin before _swaggering_ away.

This time, the entire offense trudges over to the sidelines because of the full timeout (and, yes, there are now football terms taking up precious RAM in her overworked brain), and she dutifully offers water to those in her vicinity. Oliver appears in front of her, but he pulls the same dick move again, deliberately leaving her hanging with his patented smirk. Mentally, Felicity sticks her tongue out at him, promising herself that the next time he actually approaches her for water, she’ll aim for his nose.

What really bothers her is the mystery of it all. The minute pause before he brushes her off, almost like a GPS system recalculating the route. The sympathetic smile from John Diggle, #45, tight end ( _mmhmm_ , her TA/friend, Lyla Michaels, once confirmed). The knowingly suggestive grin from Tommy Merlyn, #85, wide receiver and Oliver’s childhood best friend. That family weekend game when his notoriously famous family had been visiting, and Oliver had herded his younger sister off the sidelines and back to their parents as the girl loudly exclaimed  _But I want to meet her!_ No one had met her eyes during the second half.

The referee’s sharp whistle indicates the end of the time out, and Felicity checks back into the real world for a moment, making sure she’s not needed. Nope, she’s safe to continue zoning out, absentmindedly focusing on the players as they trot back onto the field. Only when her friend Caitlin Snow—fellow work-study with an actual related interest in biomedical technology _and_ Ronnie Raymond, #11, back-up quarterback—comes over for a quick greeting does Felicity realize she’s spaced out staring at Oliver Queen’s ass, and a little part of her dies inside since it’s been confirmed that the QB1 doesn’t utilize butt padding. When he bends over at the waist to prepare for the snap, she curses the universe wholeheartedly again for being seriously unfair.

Moments later, Oliver is sacked, hard enough that even Felicity winces, and the offense clears the field without getting any points on the board. For once, he doesn’t approach her, instead ripping off his helmet and slumping onto the end of an uncomfortable metal bench. She’s vaguely mesmerized by how his soaked, shaggy hair dripping sweat onto his forehead in a way that is infinitely more attractive than his douchy frat boy coif.

Before he can catch her staring, Felicity turns back to the game in time to watch her friend Barry Allen, #99, punter, dropkick the ball far enough that the punt returner calls for a fair catch just yards from the end zone. The game stays close, and in the end, the defense’s effort saves the day. Everyone is ecstatic, but the offensive players have just a little less pep in their step, knowing they’ll be reamed out next practice.

After a shoddy sing-along to the band’s rendition of the school fight song, the team and coaches clear the field, leaving the staff to clean up. Felicity is carrying out her post-game duties, trying to finish as quickly as possible, when Caitlin marches over with a clear agenda. “No,” she responds before Caitlin even speaks.

“You’re coming to the victory party tonight,” the brunette decisively announces.

“Hah. No.”

Unluckily, Caitlin is used to her acerbic attitude and doesn’t take the multiple rejections at face value. “Iris is visiting, and we never get to spend time with her. Besides what else have you got planned? Hanging out with Cooper?” Felicity’s silence is answer enough, and Caitlin frowns deeply, “Are you really interested in him? Rumor is he’s reckless and dangerous.”

“Iris is at BC, not the other side of the country. And if Cooper’s dangerous, what do you call me?” Felicity taunts to hide her genuine curiosity. Because he may be a cute boy she’s crushing on and dating, but she knows she’s worlds smarter than he is. If there’s one thing Donna Smoak did right as a mother, it was to caution her daughter against boys who only wanted to take advantage of her. Though, based on the skeptical and worried looks her friends have been gracing her with lately, Felicity suspects she’s been heading down that path.

Which is why it’s not really a surprise when Caitlin draws a deep breath and rolls her shoulders back before speaking again, “You’re smart enough to know better—and to never get caught. He’s too arrogant to not make mistakes. And I don’t like the way he talks down to you about having this job. Just because his parents can afford to pay his tuition, doesn’t mean we’re all so lucky.”

The brunette cringes away slightly, expecting her tart friend to react poorly to the blunt criticism, but Felicity can’t help but agree. Obviously, football team lackey isn’t her first job choice, but she wasn’t raised to turn her nose up at honest work— _hello_ , cocktail waitress single mother. Cooper complains all the time that she’s kowtowing to _the man_ and buying into _the system_  without seeing the hypocrisy in his attending an elite, private university on the dime of his New England, upper middle-class parents. In fact, it’s part of why she’s smarter and better. He’s only ever worked with top of the line computers; she’s made do with scraps and spare parts from junked equipment, relying on her skills, wit, and improvisation to finish the job.

Felicity knows her friends have been biting their tongues for weeks now, and unfortunately, Caitlin isn’t saying anything that hasn’t set off her own internal alarms. And it makes sense for the aspiring doctor to be the one to snap. Her wide-eyed, _niceness_  is the most frequent target of Cooper’s condescension. To the point where the guy seemingly forgets that Caitlin wasn’t admitted to MIT because she looks like a Disney princess; the woman is brilliantly sharp with a killer instinct a mile-wide, one that’s become even more honed due to her fast friendship with Iris. 

Actually, yeah,  _fuck_ Cooper. If he wants to become a darkweb legend, he can figure it out himself—without her codes.

“Still not going to the party,” Felicity declares. Because she’ll need some time to break it off with Cooper and then consume an entire pint of mint chip while lying on her dorm room floor.

* * *

“Felicity!”

Surprisingly, it’s Barry who spots her first and grins widely in greeting. Maybe not so surprising since she bumped into him and Iris making out against the back door she was hoping to slip in through. Iris gathers herself quickly enough, wiping some of her lipstick off Barry’s mouth and sending him off to retrieve beers, before pushing her back outside to the relative quiet. “Cait said you weren’t coming? Something about dumping Cooper and drowning in ice cream?”

“Frakking closet misogynist. Just kept calling me  _babe_  and ranting about how I’d never get anywhere without him because he sees the big picture. Like he’s some sort of evil genius and I’m just his bumbling minion. I am not Pinky! If anything, I’m Brain, and _he’s_ Pinky.” Felicity bursts out, ending with a sharp exhale that pushes her long bangs out of her eyes and ignoring how Iris stifles her grin at the unexpected, nostalgic refernce. “Anyway, I need something stronger than ice cream.”

Iris sends her a _no shit?_ look before softening her expression. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Unable to stand the sympathy, Felicity crosses her arms and scoffs, “Oh, please, you guys never liked him.”

“No, not really,” Iris readily admits with a shrug. “But you did. And I would have happily been wrong about him if it meant you’re happy.”

Iris’ sincere earnestness is too much, and Felicity reluctantly reaches up to wipe away the totally involuntary tears, not even putting up a token resistance to her friend’s warm hug. “Oh thank god!” she exclaims when Barry reappears, carefully juggling three solo cups of beer. She takes one from him so quickly he nearly drops the other two and proceeds to chug the cheap keg beer.

* * *

“ _You_.”

Oliver is surprised when the short person he’s bumped into lets out a hostile greeting. Bracing himself for a scorned one night stand, he instead finds his crush object as Tommy has started calling her— _Felicity_ , his tipsy brain helpfully supplies—and smirks widely. “Me.”

“Your haircut’s stupid.”

He breathes out a small laugh, because that’s exactly the kind of attitude he’s used to from her. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s floppy and stupid. You look like a stoned serial killer. When it’s darker and kind of stringy because you’re all sweaty, that’s much better. Shorter would be good, too. Not like buzz cut short but just long enough to grab.” Felicity reaches up to slide a hand into his hair, firmly taking hold and moving her fingers through until—“There. That’d be _perfect_.”

Her voice is low and throaty and suggestive, and Oliver’s dick jumps in his jeans as his mind spins through all the scenarios where she needs a tight grip on his hair. He’s so preoccupied with the fantasies that he doesn’t even notice his mortified teammate trying to shuffle Felicity past him.

“Whoa, okay, didn’t need to know any of that. Sorry, Oliver. She loses her filter when she’s drunk, just going to take her home.” Barry steps closer as if to separate them but freezes at the intense look on Oliver’s face.

That’s when Oliver notices Barry’s girlfriend has a firm hold of Felicity’s arm, looking both impatient with her drunk friend and ready to fight him if need be. Oliver holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence and takes a large step back, causing Felicity to lose her hold on his hair. Unexpectedly, a shiver wracks his body as her fingers tug before releasing the strands, and now Iris looks more amused than anything.

“Sorry to cockblock, Ollie,” though Iris sounds not the least bit apologetic, “but we’re going now.”

Oliver’s only half-listening as Iris cajoles Felicity out of the house with promises of _break-up_   _ice cream?_  The rest of him is focused on how the AD uniform seriously doesn’t do her ass justice.

* * *

“Hi.”

Felicity is sunk into her seat, somehow still feeling that hangover from Saturday morning and wondering if she can get away with napping through this prerequisite that is way beneath her skill level. She raises a suspicious eyebrow—is he even in this class?—before sighing heavily. “One drunk interaction is not an invitation to socialize with me.” Instead of the usual reaction to her caustic tone, Oliver’s grin widens, and Felicity slams her eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of _twinkling_ blue eyes.

“But it was such a memorable interaction,” he needles, smiling even more when she groans in dismay, “And I wanted to let you know that I’m taking your advice.”

From the dumb grin that’s still on his face, Felicity knows that he knows exactly what he’s doing. _3, 2, 1_ —“Oh hell, just tell me. I hate mysteries.”

“I know,” he responds unblinkingly. And before she can comment on the mild creepiness of that response, Oliver keeps talking, “I’m getting a haircut after lunch. Thought you’d be interested in coming along, so we can do it exactly how you like it.”

The double entendre is as unsubtle as an anvil, and Felicity resists the urge to gag in his face. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”

Undeterred—mainly because he seems to know that was never going to work—Oliver continues to cajole her, “Come on. I’ll stop doing that thing you hate during games.”

“Hah! So it _is_ on purpose,” Felicity crows, ignoring the stares of her classmates because they were already staring to begin with.

“Well, duh. How else was I supposed to get your attention? It wasn’t going to be my incredible smarts.” Oliver’s deadpan answer is a shade of self-deprecating that she isn’t expecting and gives her pause. But when she frowns at him, he loses the seriousness and plasters his playboy grin back on. “So what do you say? I stop doing that thing during games, and you come with me to my haircut.”

It sounds simple enough but Felicity has had enough life experience to know that there is no such thing as a free lunch. _See_  all of Las Vegas, down to every last buzzing molecule in a neon sign. “That’s it?”

“Well, and tell my barber the optimal length for panty-dropping.” His smirk is unrepentant, and she drops her head into her hands in disbelief.

“Oh god. Does this count as prostitution? Solicitation? Is there an undercover cop somewhere who can arrest you?” Felicity cranes her neck around as if to catch sight of campus security but is only met with the increasingly curious stares of the class.

“I’ll pick you up outside the cafeteria at one.” Oliver winks and disappears in a cloud of expensive cologne and wistful sighs from an appreciative demographic of the class.

* * *

He’s nervous.

Damn, he feels dumb even admitting it to himself. But Tommy, nosy gossip that he is, had been lurking nearby at the party Friday night and cornered him Saturday night to gleefully confirm that Felicity and the wannabe hacktivist had broken up—at her initiation. His best friend had then dragged Dig into the conversation to insist that Oliver make a move before someone could beat him to it.

His attempts to deny any interest had been brushed aside. “Oh _please_ , you’ve been mooning after her since the first game of the season,” Dig had noted with startling accuracy. “Hell, you talk about her so much, _Thea_  knows who she is,” Tommy had chimed in with a shit-eating grin.

Okay, fine, so he had been a little charmed—and his interest piqued—by the girl who looked like she wanted nothing more than to jam the water bottle spigot in his eye when he smirked at her that first game. And maybe he had mentioned her a time or two to Thea, but only because his little sister was—to his complete terror—setting off down the same path of irresponsible rebellion that he had all but patented. So, yes, he talked up Felicity as someone who clearly did not bend to the expectations of society but was still crazy smart—second place in the National Information Technology competion (or so the campus newspaper told him)—and hard-working—commonly praised by all the coaches, despite clearly hating her job. 

None of that meant he’s crushing on her.

Tommy had just scoffed, “Well, if you don’t, then I will.” Oliver had blinked at his friend for a long moment, knowing that Tommy was still miffed Oliver had dated Laurel Lance in high school despite knowing about his best friend’s interest. Even aside from the slight grudge, Oliver had known Tommy wasn’t joking. They’d always had similar taste in girls, much to the amusement and profit of the Starling City tabloids.

Tommy had been unphased by his incredulous look while Dig had just stifled a chuckle. “Twenty-four hours,” had been Tommy’s warning, because with friends like that, who needs enemies?

So he’d spent Sunday charming the girl he knew worked at the registrar’s office into letting him peek at Felicity’s schedule and managed to drag himself out of bed Monday morning to track her down at her first class. She’d been hostile, even before his approach, but he hadn’t let that stop him, busting out his playboy charm then resorting to bribery. But, whatever, he’d gotten his not-a-date, and he is going to stop being nervous.

* * *

“Oliver, where the hell are we going?” Felicity hisses before she slouches down even further into the ultra-luxe, buttery soft leather bucket seats.

“Felicity, I told you: my barbershop.” Oliver slides his car into a parking spot and kills the engine before gesturing up at the traditional red, white and blue barber’s pole.

“Really? Because this looks like Russian mob territory and I’m starting to think you brought me out here to kill me, or I guess have me killed.” To be fair, she had greeted him by declaring, “Barry and Iris know that I’m going somewhere with you so if I’m not back by 4, they will file a missing persons report.”

Oliver scoffs in disbelief and pushes open his car door, waiting to step out until she reluctantly does the same. “No, it does not—okay, fine. Maybe a little about the mob thing, but Anatoly’s cool. He’s been cutting my hair since I moved here.”

“Oh? Is he the one to blame for the—”

“Stoned serial killer look?” When she cringes in embarrassment, he laughs a little, “Yeah, you already told me how you feel about this hairstyle. And, no, he’s always trying to get me to “make myself respectable.” Whatever that means.”

“Not looking like the yuppiest yuppie to ever yup?” Felicity shoots back, ducking under his arm as he holds the door open. Oliver’s grumbled _We live in Boston and go to MIT_  barely registers with her because she stops in her tracks at the sight of the gleaming black, white and chrome interior, bustling with activity. Well, at least it _looks_  like a legitimate barbershop. She’s even more astounded by the well-appointed man who immediately rushes over to grab Oliver’s face and _kiss_ his cheeks.

“And you brought your girlfriend!”

The heavily accented and joyful declaration swiftly jars her back to reality. “ _Not_  his girlfriend,” she bites out over Oliver’s less vehement denial before minding her manners. “Felicity Smoak.” She extends a hand to the man who introduces himself in a deep rumble of syllables that takes her a moment to process.

Anatoly bows over her hand—more shock and awe—before slyly smiling and gesturing between the two of them. “Then how do you know my Oliver?”

“Felicity’s a friend,” he cuts in smoothly with a hesitant smile and a gentle squeeze of her shoulder. Felicity can only make a vague noise of assent because when did his hand end up on her shoulder? “And my new fashion consultant. She’s here to tell you what to do, old man.”

The two banter their way over to the row of chairs and sinks in the back of the shop, and Felicity trails after them uncertainly. Almost immediately, a shop assistant herds her into the chair next to Oliver and hands her a mug of hot tea. For once in her life, she’s rendered speechless as the spoiled Queen heir converses with his barber in a surprising mix of English and broken Russian. As far as she can gather, Anatoly is a family friend of Oliver’s childhood nanny— _of course_ , he had a nanny—hence the easy familiarity and rudimentary Russian.

“Felicity would prefer my hair shorter.” She startles when she realizes Oliver is talking about her, and even worse, he’s phrasing it like she’s the ultimate arbiter of his hair length. Anatoly responds in Russian, something that makes Oliver blush, which she didn’t think he could do, and the nearby barbers and patrons chuckle heartily.

“What does that mean?” she bluntly asks, even knowing that it’s a little rude.

“Come show me how short,” Anatoly replies with a smile, and Felicity knows that he hasn’t—and won’t—answer her question.

After that, it’s a flurry of English and Russian again. Most of the time, they make an effort to include her in the conversation but sometimes they forget and slip into old, half-told stories and nonsensical inside jokes. By the end, she’s learned about Oliver’s estranged relationship with his parents, his childhood friendship with Tommy Merlyn, his fondness for Raisa who now runs the Queen mansion, Diggle’s never-ending efforts to keep him in line, and his younger sister’s genuine attachment to him and dismay that he’s on the other side of the country.

It’s—confusing.

She’s standing by Oliver’s elbow as he pulls out his wallet and Anatoly inputs numbers into an old-fashioned cash register that both fascinates her and kind of makes her heart hurt. “I was wrong, my friend,” Anatoly slyly grins while Oliver freezes, “This was quite the way to woo your Felicity.”

Felicity flushes because, against her better judgment, she _is_ charmed by this Oliver. The one who has an almost crippling fear of disappointing his parents and little sister, who’s a dedicated and loyal best friend (although his and Tommy’s idea of dedication and loyalty mainly involves keg-standing on command and honoring dibs on women), who constantly drives himself and his teammates to success, and who exhibits a surprisingly defeatist attitude about his intelligence (although MIT does that to like 95% of its students).

Shell-shocked, the pair stumble their way back to Oliver’s car. “This was not a date,” Felicity asserts, once the doors are closed. “I mean, I just broke up with Cooper like two days ago. Not to mention, we are nowhere near each other’s type. Sure, it was unexpectedly nice to see that you aren’t a total raging douchebag with an unfortunate haircut, kind of a peek under the covers to Oliver Queen’s real life. I didn’t mean that like that. I mean, clearly I have no desire to peek under anything that is supposed to be cover—”

“Felicity,” Oliver cuts in, but it’s more the hand on her knee that startles her into not talking, “You’ll know when I take you on a date.”

They’re almost back to campus before she manages to lob back a response. Mainly because he’d had the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow when he’d picked her up—obviously due to the hangover that was evidenced by his then red-rimmed eyes than a commitment to the scruff—and that combined with the shorter hair is just  _a lot_. “I am not dating you. I have standards.”

“Yep. Not a total raging douchebag, cleared that bar,” he returns cheerily, and Felicity scowls at his seemingly omnipresent grin. Then, as if to prove his point, he makes a show of getting out of the car to open her door when he parks next to her dorm.

“Did you child-lock the door when I wasn’t looking?” Her suspicious question is answered with a small shrug and infuriating grin, and she stomps up the stairs to the main entrance, searching her bag for her key card.

“Felicity.”

She turns back to find him leaning against the railing at the bottom of the stairs, one hand jammed in a jacket pocket, the other reaching up to push back floppy bangs that are no longer there. Oliver blows out a short sigh when his fingers reach air and then suddenly, “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” She just gapes at him. Because hadn’t they just done this little banter and rejection like three minutes ago? “Saturday night? And, yes, I mean like a date-date. I mean, the implication being with dinner that you—”

“Yes.” The word surprises her as much as it does him, but after a shared second of stunned silence, Felicity nods emphatically, “Yes, actually.”

* * *

That Friday night, at the beginning of halftime, Oliver approaches her with a cocky smirk she can see even under the shadow of his helmet. Felicity’s already scowling by the time he’s two steps away because if he pulls this shit again, she _will_ renege on dinner tomorrow night. She doesn’t care how charmingly nervous he’d been when asking.

To her surprise, he plucks the water bottle from her outstretched hand and jams the spout through a gap in the bars of the facemask. After a long drink, he drops the bottle into the empty spot in the rack before smiling. Honest to god, smiling, with a little dimple she has a sudden compulsion to stroke. “Do you like Italian? For tomorrow night?” Oliver clarifies over his coach’s yelling for him to join the huddle.

“Oliver, you’re in the middle of a game.” Felicity points out because the entire sideline, the entire stadium, which, granted, is only half-full if she’s being generous, is now staring at them.

“I’m multitasking,” he shrugs carelessly, even though she can see the fingers of his ungloved hand rubbing together, his telltale nervous tick before a snap. “Italian?” Oliver prompts again when all she does is stare at him unblinkingly.

She wordlessly nods, because she probably wouldn’t be heard over the coach’s _shrill_  yelling anyway, and Oliver smiles broadly. He leans in as if to kiss her cheek but stops short when he remembers his helmet. Instead, he reaches for her free hand to give it a gentle squeeze that she can’t help but return.

Felicity has no idea how she got roped into this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean the summary does say adventures as in plural.

_How?_ Felicity frowns at the hulking lump on her “extra-long” twin bed. It looks miniature-sized with him taking up all that room. _How did her life get to this point?_

“Will you stop pouting?”

“I’m not pouting,” comes the muffled response.

“You’re not _not_ pouting,” Felicity shoots back, leaning against her closed door. He flops an arm out, as if that’s some kind of response, and she sighs. Damn it. He’s officially pathetically cute. Stepping closer, Felicity picks up his arm, not at all surprised when he takes that as an invitation to pull her into bed next to him.

“Hi,” he smiles faintly, touching his forehead to hers, “Don’t wanna stay.”

“But you’ll be the smartest kid in summer school. I mean after Barry and the rest of the team, maybe before Tommy,” she responds, and he scowls. “Sorry, you knew what you signed up for when you asked me out and it was not a supportive-at-all-costs girlfriend.”

His eyes brighten at that, as if he’s somehow cheered just by the thought that she, in all her maladjusted, figurative kick-in-the-balls glory, is his girlfriend. “Best decision ever,” Oliver grins, confirming her thoughts.

Her arms slip around his trim waist to hug him tightly even as she scoffs, “Weirdo. Athletes always take summer classes. What’s the big deal this time?”

“Uh, you?” he deadpans, frowning at her blasé attitude. They’ve been together since the end of football season since it had taken more than a few dates (and kinda, sorta kidnappings with the assistance of their friends) to wear her down. To be honest, he was glad that she kept her guard up for so long, because without the challenge, his asshole-self would have lost interest, would have never taken the time to get to know her and to find out all the ways she made him better. And he made her happy, too. He can tell from the way she sometimes paused to look at him before grinning a little and shaking her head in disbelief. Because they should be unthinkable, but she’s the best thing that’s happened to him in a very long time.

Felicity just huffs in disbelief, but he can see the little furrow between her eyebrows, a telltale sign that something is bothering her. He lays a hand on her cheek in silent question, and she rolls her eyes at herself. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

* * *

They must fall asleep like that—gazing into each other’s eyes like ridiculous saps—because Felicity wakes to his absurdly good-looking face, relaxed in sleep, and the distinct sound of that bluebird chirping outside her window. Shit, that means—

Her next move is to shove Oliver, hard enough that he half-rolls and scrambles for balance as he hangs partly off her bed and the raisers it’s on to fit her desk underneath. “You little shit,” she growls, crawling forward to climb down from the footboard, “You turned my alarm off. What time’s it? Did I miss my flight?”

She doesn’t get far before he snags her around the waist, dragging her back to lie underneath him. He makes a show of looking at his ultra fancy watch and then declares, with a smug smirk, “11:32. You most definitely missed your flight.” Immediately, Felicity begins to struggle out from under his solid weight as he tries to soothe her. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. You clearly needed the sleep. We both did. Missing your flight isn’t a big deal. Thea’s leaving New York at one,” Oliver rolls his eyes a little because of course his parents would let her spend a week in New York City to visit some family friends as a junior high graduation present, “so I’ll just ask the pilot to make a pit stop. You’ll be in Starling by five.”

“I am not meeting your sister for the first time like this. Flying to Starling on your _family_ plane with three suitcases because I’m going to be there for an entire summer, interning at your _family’s_ company,” Felicity shoots back, completely incredulous, “Are you insane? I can’t meet _any_ of your family like this. They’ll think I got this internship at QC because of _you_.”

Oliver rolls his eyes, keeping a tight grip on her hands that are still managing to thump his chest emphatically. “No, they won’t. They know I couldn’t care less about running the company. Even if they did think I had something to do with it, they’d probably just thank you for getting me to show an interest in QC.” He ignores the sour expression that is her response. “Look, everyone already knows about you. My parents are excited to meet you. Thea is half-obsessed with you. Smart, hot, take-no-prisoners; what’s there not to love? It’s going to be fine. Just breathe.”

“Don’t patronize me, Queen,” she sighs in resignation. It’s a moot point. Her flight left at 10, and the budget airline she booked is unlikely to give a flying fuck—no pun intended—about her ordeal. The Queen family plane is probably her only shot at getting to Starling City before her internship starts in three days and without paying an obscene amount for a last minute plane ticket. It’s also best to tag along on Thea’s flight home because Oliver would have no qualms about having the pilot turn right back around after dropping off his sister. And that’s an extravagance she wants no part of.

Her bags are already packed so she jumps in the shower while Oliver calls the pilot. By the time she’s finished dressing, he’s apparently been back to his dorm to pack a duffel bag. “What? Dad’s flying back this way on Sunday for meetings in DC so I figured I’d take the weekend to go home.” Instinctively, she folds herself into his embrace, grateful that he’s making all sorts of effort to settle her nerves. Thea may be a rambunctious twelve-year-old who thinks the sun shines out of her older brother’s ass, but Felicity is absolutely terrified to spend five hours on a plane with the preteen.

Felicity calls a cab to take them to Logan International. She has no idea how to get to the private plane hangars or even where they are so she settles in as Oliver directs the driver. She’s going to miss her friends this summer. Caitlin snagged a part-time research gig to go along with her summer classes at Johns Hopkins in DC. Iris was going to be fetching coffee for reporters at the Daily Planet in Metropolis. Lyla decided to stay in town ostensibly to work on her thesis, but everyone is pretty sure she’ll be taking assignments from whichever covert government agency is funding her master degree. The boys—Oliver, Tommy, and Barry—would be stuck in a triple room since John, being four years older and having already served a tour in Afghanistan, was trusted with the privilege of living off campus. Usually, Coach Wilson had a strict bunking rule, believing that it encouraged teammates to be accountable for one another, mainly because he punished the entire room for the infractions—tardiness, bad grades, general shenanigans—of one.

Still, she has her reservations about Oliver sharing a room with Tommy. Because, as quickly as they’d taken to each other, with the built-in bonding experience of ganging up on Oliver, parties and Tommy Merlyn are synonymous. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Oliver; it’s that those environments are a breeding ground for the opportunistic to create misunderstandings and accidents.

“Stop freaking out,” Oliver mumbles from his seat next to her. Her automatic denial is met with a disbelieving snort. “QC or me?” he presses on, reading her mind.

“Neither, stop being egotistical,” Felicity retorts half-heartedly. His hand reaches over to hold hers, and she gives him a light squeeze. Her head drops onto his shoulder, and as she takes her time to gather her thoughts, she can feel his free hand fiddling with her newly blonde hair. Oliver had protested the proposed change (at first), declaring that any idiot with two brain cells to rub together would recognize her genius even through her “unique” appearance. But she had gone for it anyway, feeling that it was time to shed the armor that she’d adopted as a Vegas girl unceremoniously uprooted to MIT. The blonde had been a last second suggestion by the hair stylist recommended by Oliver’s friend Anatoly. When she’d made it back to her dorm after hours of treatments, she was glad her roommate had lucked out with an early finals schedule and had already taken off for a San Francisco vacation before her internship at Google started. Oliver’s reaction had been... enthusiastic.

“Just,” she sighs, feeling ridiculous, “Just don’t cheat on me, okay? If you want to bang some girl at a party, call and break up with me first.”

“I’m not going to cheat on you,” he grumbles, and she doesn’t have to look up to see his offended expression, “And we’re not breaking up.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he’s quicker, “Hey, _no_ , shut up. I mean it. Just stop. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, and everyone knows it. I’m not screwing this up.”

Felicity tugs on his arm a little, and after a moment, he turns, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too.”

“I know.” The smugness of his response is lessened by the long kiss he leaves on her temple. “We’re here. Ready to meet my sister? She’s like five feet tall and about 100 pounds soaking wet, so you should be terrified.” Felicity’s muttered _jerk_ is lost in the sounds of them exiting the cab. Her eyes widen when she realizes they’ve driven up next to a hangar with a “small” private plane parked outside. Oliver waves forward someone she assumes is ground crew to gather their suitcases so she has only her laptop bag to tightly grip as they ascend the short staircase.

Since Oliver’s behind her, she’s greeted first by an attendant offering her a beverage and second by a very pissed off preteen. Thea is sunk into an enormous seat, arms crossed, while glaring daggers at her. Oliver is, of course, oblivious and stands next to her with his arms open wide for a hug that is not forthcoming. “Speedy? What’s wrong?”

“Who’s _she_?” The bitchy tone is much too old for a twelve-year-old, and Felicity is involuntarily impressed by Thea’s impersonation of a mean girl. Based on Felicity's creepy feelings of déjà vu, Thea's going to do _just_ fine next year in high school.

“You mean Felicity?” Oliver sounds as confused as she feels. She’d be much more worried that he’d been lying when he said Thea was excited to meet her if she hadn’t overheard some of those conversations herself. “You know all about her. She’s my girlfriend.”

Thea’s eyes grow wide and dart between the two of them again. Her brow furrows as she carefully looks Felicity up and down once more. “But all the pictures? Aren’t you a goth?”

Right. Felicity self-consciously reaches up to the newly dyed blonde hair she has up in a ponytail since they were short on time and she didn’t want to bust out the hair dryer. There’s also her glasses, which she doesn’t normally wear except for flying and all nighters, and her fairly bland outfit of black jeans and Oliver’s MIT sweatshirt since she’s also been overhauling her wardrobe to be a little less conspicuous at a Fortune 100 company.

Oliver is bent over laughing, so she takes it upon herself to cautiously approach the less hostile and more curious Thea. “I’m Felicity. Really. I just had a little bit of a makeover. Can’t work at QC looking like I just crawled out of a Hot Topic, can I?”

Thea stands then warily questions, “Ollie didn’t make you do it, did he?”

“No,” Felicity shakes her head in amusement, “He told me not to change a thing if I didn’t want to. Oliver’s been very good at loving someone for who they are and not what they look like.”

With that, Thea launches herself at Felicity for a hug, apologizing profusely for her attitude. “Oh thank god! It’s just, Ollie hasn’t had a _real_ girlfriend in so long, and you sounded so awesome, and I would have been so pissed at him if he broke up with you, or if he tried to make you change after he’s spent, like, an entire year harping on me to be myself and never listen to stupid—” Comically, she cuts herself off mid-ramble and fixes her brother with a very serious look, “Wait. _Love._ You said love. Have you—”

“Yes, Speedy,” Oliver interjects, coming up to brush a kiss against his sister’s wild hair. “I love Felicity. Felicity loves me. I’m not as emotionally stunted as Mom and Dad think I am. Can I have my hug now?” She squeals and tackles him in a hug so forceful his breath leaves him in a startled whoosh, keeping him in a strangle hold until the flight attendant asks them to take their seats for take off. They settle in the grouping of four seats, two sets facing each other on either side of a low table. Thea, seated across from them, doesn’t stop grinning, especially when Oliver holds her hand through the ascent. Her fear of heights normally doesn’t affect flying for her, but take offs and landings always make her a little queasy. He catches her eye then releases her hand to reach for a water bottle.

“So have you picked out your kid’s names?” Thea questions innocently, smirking a little when Oliver sprays his mouthful of water into the aisle.  
Felicity is left to choke on air as she tries to stutter out a very quick denial, “No, no, no. I am not pregnant. Definitely not. That is a long, long, long, long, long, long time away to even start thinking about things like that.” She pivots to Oliver who is pointedly chugging the remainder of the water. “Was that too many _long_ ’s? Was that an offensive number of _long_ ’s?”

Oliver pats her knee comfortingly. “It was exactly the right number of long’s,” he assures her. “Are you out of your mind, Speedy? That is such an inappropriate question.”

“What?” she rolls her eyes in the way perfected by teenagers, “I figure it’s only a matter of time. I’ve never seen you with such major heart eyes before, Ollie.” Oliver grumbles in an _I don’t even know what that means_ way, and she sighs exaggeratedly, “Good thing it’s self-explanatory. Piece of advice for when you do get there, a long, long, long, long, long, long time from now: don’t let Ollie choose. He has terrible taste in names. He calls me Speedy for god’s sake.”

Felicity reclines in her seat, observing as the siblings bicker good-naturedly over the validity of Thea’s childhood nickname. She realizes now that the question was some sort of test from Thea, given the extent of their family fortune and the kind of girls Oliver usually hung around. Even if the younger sister did think she was awesome, Thea was still protective of her big brother. And that was almost unbearably sweet.

She’s unaware of her head lolling against the headrest, until Oliver produces a pillow seemingly from nowhere to jam under her head. “You didn’t sleep enough last night?” He responds to Thea’s sounds of disgust with a quick, “Finals, Speedy. And aren’t you too young to know about... S-E-X?” He leans across her to push a button that reclines her seat into an almost flat position.

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it, Ollie,” Thea retorts, obviously mimicking what’s been said to her by teachers/parents. It’s the last thing Felicity remembers clearly before slipping off to sleep, with only the sensation of a blanket being draped over her and low murmurs as Oliver and Thea quietly catch up afterwards.

When she wakes up, it’s because the plane is lightly rocking, and she jolts upright from her curled position in the reclined seat. “Hey, it’s okay,” Thea is quick to reassure her, “It’s always a little rocky approaching Starling because of all the cloud cover. This is like baby turbulence.” Speaking of babies, she lets her eyes drift to the seat next to her where Oliver is still fast asleep and then locks eyes with Thea, who rolls hers. “Ollie always could sleep through anything.”

“Nothing troubling his mind,” Felicity confirms with a sarcastic grin. It’s been interesting dating Oliver when she compares him to the Ollie Queen who was a fixture, even in high school, in the local tabloids, and on occasion the national ones that she’d see at checkout stands in Vegas. He’s been gently course correcting from that reckless behavior, first under the Coach Wilson’s strict rules and second as her boyfriend, into a reluctantly improving student but surprisingly steady support system. She can’t imagine what he’d be like if life had dealt him a harsh wake up call—a drunk driving accident or an overdose, which are increasingly common among his peers.

“But it means we have a chance to get to know each other.” Thea’s suggestion is accompanied by a sly smile, which confirms Felicity’s suspicions that this girl is beyond her years in many respects. “Tell me about yourself, Felicity.”

“I don’t know what Oliver’s told you about me,” she hedges, marveling over how this slip of a preteen is not so subtly controlling the conversation.

Thea giggles at her nervousness, an unintentional reminder that the Queen Bee facade is still under construction. “That you’re a genius, especially with computers, and sarcastic in a really funny way and extremely pretty. Most importantly, that you don’t let other people’s opinions affect you.”

“I appreciate the order of those compliments,” Felicity mutters under her breath, “So puppies and unicorns basically?” Thea confirms with a slight nod. “Look, I don’t—there are things—I’m not Oliver’s usual type, alright? Or even the type of person your parents want him dating. And I know you’re only twelve, but I’m going to be in Starling all summer, working at your family company of all places, and Oliver and I are doing the long distance thing.” Felicity blew out a breath, trying to get her thoughts in order. “I mean, you’re probably going to hear things about me—not just puppies and unicorns stuff—and I don’t want you to feel like I’m lying or hiding things from you.”

Thea tucks her feet up under her and then leans forward in her seat conspiratorially, “What kind of things?”

“I grew up in Las Vegas. In a one bedroom apartment with a single mom, who’s a cocktail waitress in the casinos,” she blurts, feeling embarrassed with Thea’s eyes widen. “I go to MIT on a full scholarship. I met Oliver because of my job in the work-study program as an athletic assistant. I don’t fly on private planes. This is probably like my fourth flight _ever_.”

“I knew some of that,” the younger girl interjects softly. “Ollie talks a lot about how hard you work, even though you don’t like your job. He’s really not subtle.”

“Right,” Felicity rolls her eyes at the understatement. “My point is basically that I’m a normal person with a decidedly lower middle class background but a lot of brains and stubbornness. So people might say things about why I’m dating Oliver or how I got my internship. And I just want you to know that I’m not hiding my background from him or your family and that I was recruited for the internship before I started dating Oliver. This isn’t typical first meeting conversation, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize you’re not a typical twelve-year-old, and your family definitely isn’t typical.”

“Oh,” Thea finally admits to following Felicity’s circuitous babble. “That’s not—” she shakes her head to start again. “Thanks. Most of Ollie’s girlfriends, friends who are girls,” she quirks an eyebrow at the meaningless distinction, “they treat me like I’m dumb or naive. Like I don’t realize what our family’s worth or why they’re trying to date him. Ollie’s not always the smartest, especially when it comes to girls.”

“He’s not dumb either,” Felicity defends with a frown. It feels like a strange observation for a twelve-year-old to be making but maybe this is how siblings usually talk about each other?

“Oh, I know,” Thea waves her off, “Even if he’s not traditionally book smart, the main problem is Ollie’s just unmotivated.” The statement sounds like a recitation of something their parents use to excuse Oliver’s behavior to a young, impressionable sibling. “That’s why I’ve had to be everything he isn’t, or refused to be.” And that’s tinged with the bitterness of someone who’s heard the “joke” about “an heir and a spare” one time too many.

Belated understanding dawns on her, and Felicity opens her mouth to comfort the younger girl but she’s cut off before she can.

“It’s fine. I meant it, though. Thanks for being honest. For telling me things that people who own private planes probably judge you for,” she offers a small, commiserating smile. “I’m going to use the bathroom before we land. Maybe wake up Ollie?” Thea unbuckles herself, and Felicity watches her retreat to the back of the plane before looking over at her boyfriend, who’s lying still but already has his eyes open. Little sneak.

“How much of that did you hear?” She offers him her hand which he readily takes before raising his seat to the upright position.

“Enough,” Oliver answers gruffly. “Thanks for treating her like an adult. Thea’s—she’s the best one in our family—smart, kind, good instincts when she’s not being a brat—but our parents are so terrified of her growing up too quickly, they won’t let her grow up at all. I think Mom’s mainly worried that Thea’s going to turn out too much like her.”

Felicity scoffs a little, “And here I thought you were a momma’s boy. I mean, according to Tommy.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs sheepishly, “That doesn’t mean I can’t see how bitter she is sometimes and how she doesn’t want that for us. We can’t let Thea be naive, but we also don’t want her growing up too fast, and we definitely don’t want her repeating my mistakes. It’s a hard balancing act. I can’t tell if it’s better or worse that I’m on the other side of the country. At least I’m not living in the same house and setting a terrible example but I’m also not there when she’s having a bad day or fighting with our parents over something dumb.”

Felicity softens almost visibly, bringing his hand up to rest against her cheek, because this? This right here is why she fell in love with the doofus. “I think the scales tip over to good. You’re breaking that cycle of entitlement that was so easy for you in Starling, and you’re doing a lot of growing up, even away from your parents’ direct supervision. Those changes aren’t lost on her, especially when you call her every weekend.”

“Seriously, heart eyes all over the place.” They both jump in their seats, not having heard Thea return from the bathroom. “I like you,” Thea declares definitively, making Felicity grin, “You can keep him.”

“Hey,” Oliver mutters in mock-offense, which is promptly ignored. He relaxes into his seat as Thea peppers Felicity with questions about her plans, other than working, for the summer. That they readily make plans for lunch and shopping next weekend gratifies him, because Thea could do with some of Felicity’s influence and Felicity could do with Thea’s buffer when it comes to their parents. Not that he thinks they won’t like her. It’s just that they were dead set on him and Laurel getting married, and now he’s bringing home a semi-reformed goth hacktivist, who they’d unwittingly hired for QC’s prestigious summer internship program because phone interviews and college transcripts can be misleading. So, despite Felicity being mostly responsible for steering him in the vague direction of adulthood, it’s going to be an adjustment, to say the least.

“Should I keep the glasses on?”

Oliver tunes back into the conversation in time to pick up on Thea and Felicity troubleshooting the latter’s new, more conventional appearance. “Hmm,” his kid sister muses with a critical eye that she definitely gets from their mother, “It’s hard to say. They make you look younger, I think, but they also sell the computer nerd persona. You don’t really give off that vibe without them.”

“What vibe do I give off?” Felicity’s tone is teasing, but he knows it’s something she’s struggling with. A thing about Cooper—the undeserving prick, he mentally adds—was that his hacktivist crusade gave Felicity a sense of purpose. After she realized the dubious legal and moral nature of his means that didn’t justify the ends and came to her senses, she’s been floundering to find a path that makes a difference in the world without breaking a bunch of federal laws. They’re both skeptical that she’ll find that higher purpose working for his family’s company, but it’s a resume builder that will at least open up doors for her in the future. Which has all lead to this vague attempt to make over her physical appearance into someone who might be taken more seriously at a Fortune 100 company, and less like someone who mainlines Red Bulls during all night hacking marathons.

“I don’t know,” Thea returns after a thoughtful pause. “The goth exterior was obvious for obvious reasons. But this in-between thing? Harmless college student, I guess?”

Felicity scrunches her nose in a slightly offended manner. “Better than the alternative? At least they’ll underestimate me, and I can whoop their as—butts. They’ll never see it coming.”

“Yes!” Oliver rolls his eyes because, of course, this is what captures Thea’s attention. “That’s perfect. We can totally play that up, and then you’ll take them out at the end of summer.”

Feeling like he’s been quiet for too long, Oliver leans over to Felicity, catching her eye. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be corrupting her, not the other way around?” he asks in an aside that he clearly means for Thea to overhear. Thea just rolls her eyes and tells him to _butt out_ , and, damn, has he missed this easy connection with her. Felicity blinks/winks in that way that undermined her scary goth persona every time before redirecting Thea to telling them about her own summer plans.

When they land, Oliver begs off family dinner for the night, asking the driver to drop him and Felicity off at her apartment before sending Thea home. Felicity picks up her key at the management office, while Thea scolds Oliver about missing dinner. From what she gathers, he—and she—will be mandatory dinner guests tomorrow night. The last thing she wants to do, other than spend the summer away from Oliver, is have dinner with her future boss’ boss, but Felicity knows there will be no escaping this cluster. Even if he weren’t _Oliver Queen_ , a college aged son coming home with his girlfriend is never going to get out of dinner at the parents’.

Still, they’re safe for at least this night. After letting go of Oliver, Thea surprises her with another hug before they wave off the car. It’s short order for them to lug her suitcases into the elevator and down the hall to her new apartment. “Your sister’s kind of terrifying,” Felicity notes once they’re alone in the empty apartment.

Oliver nods along sagely, “I think half of her junior high is scared of her, teachers included. She’s at least a benevolent dictator from what I hear.”

It takes Felicity a moment to respond because she’s too busy gaping at the apartment. She’s pretty sure it’s bigger than any of the ones she and her mom have lived in, and is definitely a major step up from her dorm room. Felicity’s always been told that her smarts and hard work would one day pay off, but this moment feels like she’s actually arrived, with her very own apartment paid for by a Fortune 100 company that is also paying her for the summer because that’s how much they want her to work for them after graduation. Of course, the hot and devoted boyfriend is just the cherry on top of the sundae.

“Ooh, very nice multisyllabic word there, Mr. Queen.” When she finally turns back to Oliver, he’s _gazing_ at her with a soft smile as if he knows exactly where her train of thought went. With a bashful smile, she wanders over to the balcony doors and feels him approach from behind.

“I try,” Oliver returns seriously. From the look on Felicity’s face, she’s feeling more than a little awestruck that this is all hers. Before he left for college, the sparsely furnished apartment would have been decidedly unimpressive to him, but after multiple semesters in a twelve foot by twelve foot dorm room shared with another person, the place looks spectacular. And from QC summer picnic rumors, the two floors of the Bayview Towers that QC rents for out of town interns turns into some kind of spring break on steroids situation, where some of the best and brightest worked hard and partied harder. The thought sends him spiraling down an unwanted path, and he twists his brain to avoid the negative images. “This is a nice view,” he comments for lack of anything else to say.

Felicity hums a little and leans back into his chest. “All part of your family’s plan I’m guessing. Look at what you could have if you come work for us full time.” Oliver can fill in the blanks: access to the best equipment and amenities with brilliant coworkers who were bound to change the world.

“Hey.” He can’t keep that strange quality out of his voice, and she immediately turns to face him. “Don’t cheat on me, okay?” That he’s repeating her words from earlier verbatim is just a coincidence, “If you want to bang some genius from CalTech, call and break up with me first.”

Felicity leans her head back so he has a perfect view of her rolling her eyes at him. “I knew you were dumb, Queen. I didn’t think you were that dumb.” Few people would consider that a reassuring response, but Oliver smiles brightly at her. “We’re doing this thing. No take backs.”

“No take backs,” Oliver agrees, pecking her lips before spinning her to face the door. “Come on. I’m taking you to Big Belly Burger for the best burgers you’ll ever have, then we’re coming back here for the best sex we’ve yet to have because you have a normal sized bed and no roommates.”

_How?_ Felicity laughs at the eager way Oliver steers her out of the apartment and back downstairs. _How did her life get to this point?_


End file.
